Vows and Goodbyes
by Elizabeth90
Summary: Bill and Fleur's wedding day has at last arrived. Harry's initial resolve to avoid Ginny is crumbling fast. HG and RHr humor and fluff that will be two chapters in all.
1. Avoiding Ginny

**Author's Note:** If any of you have been wondering where I've gone since the release of the 6th book (yes, it pains me that none of my stories are up-to-date and canon!), I've been right here the whole time, just very dry on story ideas. Trust me, I've begun many H/G fics after the wonderful happenings in HBP, but since none of them were any good until this one I didn't want to bother you with them. Sorry it's so late in coming, but here it is, my first fic that I've written after HBP, the first one that actually fits canon (gasp!).

This is the first chapter in a two-chapter story. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** Of course I'm not JK Rowling. She's too busy writing the seventh book to bother with fanfic!

Vows and Goodbyes

Chapter 1

Avoiding Ginny

Harry Potter was skilled at avoiding people. He had perfected it to something of an art form with the Dursleys, after all. The day he, Ron, and Hermione had chosen to return to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's long-anticipated wedding, he had made a decision. He would have to avoid her. There was nothing else for it. How hard could it be, after all? It had always been fairly simple with the Dursleys, and their house was far smaller than the Burrow. With all the space, with all the chaos surrounding wedding preparations, and with all the people tromping around, surely it would be rare that he would find himself alone with the youngest Weasley.

The reason for this avoidance was quite simple. He was terrified that if they had so much as two minutes together without chaperones, he would find himself either snogging her senseless or begging her to take him back. And this, of course, could not happen. He would not _let_ it happen. He refused.

"All right, Harry? You look a bit peaky."

Ron's rather perturbed voice brought Harry crashing out of his thoughts. He started back to the present; he, Ron, and Hermione were standing before the Dursleys' neat brick fireplace, Hermione's hand extended and clenched around a fistful of Floo powder. Two sets of eyes, Hermione's brown and Ron's blue, were fastened on him with expressions of concern.

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry lied. In truth he was far from it; his insides were writhing like he'd eaten a bowl of worms that morning rather than cornflakes. Far from his plan to avoid her, just the thought of _seeing_ Ginny again was making his heart do funny things. It had been difficult enough just to keep from thinking of her these past two weeks, but now . . . seeing her again, in the flesh . . .

But Ron was persistent. "Are you sure? What're you so nervous about? We're going home! I mean, I know Fleur'll be absolutely _insane _what with the fact that the wedding's seven days from now, and Mum'll be having kittens about having everything ready in time, and Ginny will probably be breathing fire because Fleur's been—"

"_Ron,"_ said Hermione repressively, and Ron's voice wisped out. He looked awkward and contrite.

Harry rolled his eyes. Both friends had made little secret of how much they disapproved of Harry's breakup with Ginny. When Harry had told them on the train ride home from Hogwarts, Hermione had made an outraged squawking sound and Ron had started choking violently on the licorice wand he was gnawing. They had at once laid into Harry about what a foolish and detrimental decision this was. Well, that had been Hermione's wording—Ron's had more been along the lines that Harry was a selfish prat who was about to be cursed into next February for hurting his sister. It was only after they realized how serious Harry was about his determination that Ginny must not be harmed that they subsided, though he had been enduring subtle hints from the two all through their stay at the Durlseys'.

A growling, petulant voice expelled from behind them.

"Get _on_ with it, then!"

"Ah. Right." Harry turned back toward his purple-faced uncle, who was skulking at the very back of the room in a fit of impatience. Uncle Vernon's emotions were perched at two extremes just then, Harry knew—extreme joy that Harry was leaving his house for good (taking his "pestilential freak friends" with him), and utter fury that they had to use his fireplace to do it. He had already had one bad experience with magic gone awry in the fireplace when Mr. Weasley had destroyed it, and he wasn't keen for a similar display. After swearing on his family's name that he would sue every last one of them if so much as a brick fell out of place, Uncle Vernon had grudgingly allowed them to use it.

Harry looked his uncle up and down, conscious of the fact that it might well be the last time he would see the man. He could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, both of them no doubt glaring daggers at Uncle Vernon, and that gave him strength.

"Well, I suppose it's time for me to say goodbye," Harry said, in a mock-cheerful voice. "I won't miss you at all, and I don't guess you'll be missing me, either. Have a nice life, and I'll have one too, if only because of the fact that you won't be in it. Goodbye."

"Toodles," said Ron, flicking his fingers girlishly at a tight-lipped Uncle Vernon.

In a savage gesture Hermione threw the Floo powder into the empty grate; at once a heatless green fire burst into life. One after the other they stepped in, Hermione first and Harry last. With one final wave of farewell, Harry steeled himself and stepped backward into the fire. Tingly warmth enveloped his body; there was a whooshing in his ears; he closed his eyes against the swirls of ash; and the next thing he knew, he was stumbling out into the sunlit sitting room of the Burrow.

Before he could get his bearings, two plump arms swooped down on him and he was encased in Mrs. Weasley's embrace.

"Oh, Harry dear! It's so good to see you're all right. Come along, you look like you could do with some good food after all that time with the Muggles."

"'Arry! 'Ow good to see you!" Fleur floated toward him, arms outstretched. Her silvery-blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and she wore casual working robes, but as always she looked magnificent. Bill was right behind. There was only a mild improvement to the scars on his face, but his grin was cheery as he slapped Ron on the back and shook Harry's hand.

"They're _back!"_ chorused two voices, as Fred and George swept forward to welcome the trio.

While Fred made a show of kissing Hermione's fingers (Ron pushed him away gruffly before his lips made contact), George wrung Harry's hand and said, "'Lo, mate."

"Hey, George. Are you staying here until the wedding?"

George threw back his head and laughed. "What's French for 'hell no'? Nah, Fleur and Mum are a bit too crazy at the mo. Don't envy Dad and Ginny for being stuck here. Fred and I have just dropped by to say hi to you lot."

"_And_ to drop off your dirty laundry," Mrs. Weasley said, putting her hands on her hips. "As if I haven't got enough to do, I also have to wash my _grown boys'_ dirty socks!"

"We didn't just come for that, Mum!" Fred protested, as though offended. He kissed her cheek. "We also came to sample your excellent cooking, since I set the stove on fire yesterday and George's soup tastes like hippogriff urine."

"That _was_ hippogriff urine," George corrected. "It was just sent over from our supplier, we needed it for a new batch of Puking Pastilles. That wasn't _soup,_ it needed to simmer on the stove for ten minutes!"

Everybody laughed at Fred's stricken expression, but Harry's eyes were scanning the room for Ginny.

He didn't have long to look. She was in a far corner, hugging Hermione in greeting. Harry took the split-second to examine her. What was he looking for? he wondered. Reddened eyes, trails of tears, some microscopic piece of evidence to suggest she had been experiencing as much torment as he had these past weeks? If so he was disappointed. Ginny looked as bright as ever, dressed much the same as Fleur in a loose ponytail and working robes.

As though his eyes had drawn her attention, Ginny glanced his way. She did then what he had been most unprepared for: she smiled. Harry gulped and looked away, pretending not to notice. Avoiding her was key. Then he wouldn't have to think about her chocolate-brown eyes, her soft pale skin, her flaming hair that contained at least seven different shades of red, depending on the light it was in. . . .

"Aren't you coming into the kitchen, Harry?" Bill asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. It occurred to Harry that everyone else had followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen for lunch.

"Enjoying the view?" Fred suggested wickedly.

"Oh—right—sorry." Harry coughed and hurried into the kitchen. Bill and the twins trailed behind, their expressions a little too knowing.

Once the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had whipped up were reduced to crusts and the eating wound down, Ron jumped up with an exhilarated expression.

"Who's up for a little after-lunch Quidditch?"

Hermione, Fleur, and Mrs. Weasley rolled their eyes, and Bill declined, as he had to return to work; but Ginny and the twins agreed enthusiastically.

"Good, Ginny, Fred, and George can be on a team," Ron established, as Mrs. Weasley began to clear up dishes, "and Harry and Hermione and me can be on the other!"

"What! Ron, I never said I was playing—" Hermione objected.

Ron looked at her pleadingly. "You've _got_ to, Hermione, without you we couldn't have even teams! Please?"

Hermione tossed her bushy hair. "Ron, I've got a book I want to finish, you can't expect me to—"

"_Please,_ Hermione?"

"Ron, I said I won't—"

"_Please?"_ Unthinkingly Ron had taken one of her hands in his own, a beseeching look on his face.

Hermione started to say something, then stopped, her eyes drifting down to alight on her and Ron's interlocked hands. "Um . . ." The lightest of blushes rose up her cheeks.

After that Hermione couldn't refuse. Harry, Ginny, and the twins carefully avoided looking at each other as they left the table.

Running upstairs with Ron to fetch their broomsticks, Harry found his momentary enthusiasm for Quidditch dribbling down to dread. He had sworn he was going to avoid Ginny! There was definitely no way to avoid her when he was going to be playing against her. Not only that, but in the same position—it had already been decided that Hermione and George would be playing Keeper, Ron and Fred would be Chasers, and Harry and Ginny would be Seekers. Momentarily Harry considered backing out of the game, but after witnessing Ron's insistence on even teams he didn't want to start an argument. He would just have to grit his teeth and do it. Besides, Seeker was the most solitary position in the game. He and Ginny probably wouldn't have to have much contact. Hopefully.

His worry receded slightly as he kicked up on his Firebolt and rose into the air several minutes later. Flying always had a calming effect on him.

The game started off in favor of the opposing team, with a point scored in Hermione's goal almost right away. Harry and Ron refrained from criticizing her, since they knew one comment could have her wheeling back toward the ground with a huffy scowl on her face. However, things evened out when Ron managed to get the Quaffle around George's defenses a few minutes later.

Harry soared slightly above the actual game, surveying the paddock for any sign of the Snitch—or, rather, the Snitch's stand-in, as they didn't own an actual Snitch. Fred had enchanted an acorn to randomly zoom around the clearing at high speeds. It was the next best thing, though Harry had to remind himself to stop looking for the flicker of gold.

Ginny flew on the opposite side of the paddock, her eyes raking the air. It was hard to focus on anything else, really. Her hair always glimmered in the corner of his eye, like a flashing red beacon. It was just like all those Quidditch practices he had endured, where he'd been more prone to goggle at her than look for the Snitch.

The game continued for the better part of an hour. Harry had glimpsed the Snitch once, but when he'd glanced at Ginny to see if she'd noticed it too, he had let his gaze linger a little too long and the acorn had vanished once he looked back.

The opposing team was in a very narrow lead when Harry saw it a second time—the acorn, zipping toward the ground. Unfortunately, Ginny spotted it at exactly the same time. They exchanged one look, then tilted their brooms down and sped earthward.

Since Ginny had been a little below Harry, she was in the lead. With his Firebolt Harry put on a burst of speed so that he was right beside her, their shoulders bumping together. It occurred to him that this was far, far more contact than he had ever bargained on—his left side was practically ground against her right, he could hear her quickened breathing, could even smell a trace of that flowery scent—

Then all thought of anything but the Snitch washed away from Harry's mind; his competitive streak was firmly in control. They pelted toward the earth, faster, faster, eyes locked on that little fluttering acorn, hands outstretched—dimly he could hear the shouts of the two teams, but he couldn't make out their words—

The Snitch, hovering near a blade of grass, suddenly darted off to their right, skimming along the ground. They both pulled harshly out of the dive and streaked after it, neck-and-neck, their fingers inches from the Snitch, neither gaining an advantage until—

As though propelled by the same thought, Harry and Ginny simultaneously pushed off their brooms with their knees and launched themselves toward the acorn. Ginny's fingers snapped around it, and Harry's enclosed hers half a second later. Having lost momentum, they careened toward the ground, both their hands still tightly locked around the makeshift Snitch. With a skidding thud, they landed on the grass half on top of each other.

At first there were no cheers from their teammates, only a stunned silence. Then George said, "Blimey," and Ron said, "Who caught the Snitch first? I can't even tell who won!"

"It was Ginny," garbled Harry, releasing her hand as though it were poisonous and scuffling to his feet. "Ginny won, she got there first—"

Ginny stood up, oblivious of the grass stains striping the front of her robe, and gave Harry a hard look. "It was a draw, Harry."

"No, it's fine, you won—"

But Ginny was insistent. "It was a _draw,_ Harry. There was barely a moment's difference between when I grabbed it and when you grabbed it—"

"Harry, if the woman says it was a draw, it was a draw," said Ron hastily, landing beside them and clearly not wanting to admit defeat.

Hermione landed shakily, looking thoughtful. "I think something like this has only happened a few times before, I read about it in _Quidditch Through the Ages._ A Snitch draw happened once in the World Cup of 1782, and another during the Swedish contests of—"

"Either way we won," George announced. "We had sixty points, you lot only had fifty. Add one hundred and fifty to each and we're still ahead."

Ginny was still watching Harry closely, almost angrily, and Harry was looking anywhere but at her. Going back inside to clean up and change, Harry vowed to himself not to play Quidditch for the rest of the week. The memory of Ginny's hand in his was still making his palms tingle. If anything could ruin his plans to avoid her, it was that.

Over the course of the next few days, Harry learned why Fred and George had dubbed Fleur "The Mad Bride." Fleur insisted on everyone waking up at the crack of dawn and beginning preparations right away. As Ron put it, if Fleur had her way they wouldn't eat meals or sleep at all, they would be chained in a line helping her decide on floral arrangements. Harry had never fully appreciated the amount of thought and effort that went into marriage. One whole day was spent on fittings for dress robes, another on cleaning the house and making it hospitable to guests, another on de-gnoming the lawns, weeding the flowers, and trimming the grasses. But it wasn't always a constant mad rush. In the evenings, after Fleur had been given some hot cocoa and sent to bed by a sympathetic Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and he were left alone by the sitting room fire. Mostly he and Ron played chess while Hermione read and Ginny watched. Harry found Ginny's eyes on him very distracting, so that he usually ended up getting checkmated within the first fifteen minutes. Once Ginny had challenged him to a game of Exploding Snap; not meeting her eyes, he had sullenly declined. For the most part he was the first to go to bed. Every time he announced his intentions to leave, he could feel Ginny watching him, and every time he could sense the disappointment in her expression.

So far his plan was working well, save for that little Quidditch snag. Fleur and Bill's wedding was looming closer all the time, and after that they could be gone . . .

Strangely, when Harry thought of it like that it did not make him feel any better. Quite the contrary, actually. Did he really want to leave her without saying _anything?_ There were a million things he wanted to tell her, but where to start? And how could he do that without losing all of his resolve completely? He couldn't afford professions of love now—it would only make her all the juicier a target for Voldemort. And if there was one thing in this world he refused to let happen, it was that.

The day before the wedding dawned. Harry awoke with a tight feeling in his chest. Two more days left at the Burrow . . .

He probably could've stuck with his plan of avoiding her—if he hadn't met her alone on the stairs. They were on that landing beside her bedroom door, Harry heading down for breakfast and Ginny heading back to her room. But she wasn't wearing jeans and a shirt, as he was . . . He couldn't help staring at her clothes. Ginny was wearing long, flowing robes of purest gold, which glowed even in the dim lighting. The elegant robes clashed with her asunder bun and the muddy trainers poking out from beneath the hem, but Harry was still struck dumb. She always looked beautiful, but this . . .

Ginny seemed flustered that he had caught her wearing them, but she quickly tried to shrug it off. "Oh, these," she said dismissively. "Our dress robes just came in from Madam Malkin's, and of course Fleur's forcing us to try them on to make sure they fit all right. But, honestly, with all the hours of fittings we've suffered through, it would be a miracle if they didn't."

"They, er, they fit you—very well," Harry stammered—and regretted saying it almost as soon as he'd opened his mouth.

Ginny looked at him and started to smile. "Don't get too attached to them," she advised. "These robes're tight, horribly itchy things; they make me look like I've been gilded. Make no mistake, I plan to set them on fire the moment Fleur says 'I do.'"

Harry smiled and for the first time made eye contact with her. His smile faded slowly, until he was just blatantly staring at her. She looked back at him, a slight crease appearing in her brow. His only thought was that he wanted to smooth it away. He didn't remember telling himself to lean forward, to kiss her; all he knew was, one second he was standing there staring, and the next his mouth was firmly pressed on hers and one of his hands was behind her neck and one of her hands was tangled in his hair.

He couldn't be sure if it lasted only a few seconds or a full minute—as always, time seemed to cease when he was kissing Ginny. But he was certain of one thing: it was the best however-long-in-the-world he had spent in a very, very long time.

Then a shrieking alarm bell went off in his head, and he found himself gently pulling away. For several seconds they just blinked at each other, red-faced. Then Harry said, "I'm sorry," and turned away.

"Sorry?" Ginny's voice was shaking. "_Sorry? _You ignore me for a week and then out of the blue kiss me, and that's all you can say, _sorry?"_

"Well I am." Harry whirled back to face her, guilt written all over his expression. "I didn't—I didn't mean—I didn't plan—it's just—"

Ginny glowered at him. "Don't kiss me unless you plan to follow up on it, Harry," she said acidly. Her dress robes swirled as she threw open her bedroom door and stormed inside, slamming it behind her with finality.

And it occurred to Harry, as he stood frowning at the grainy wood of her door, that he had really mucked things up now.

"_What_ does Harry think he's playing at?" That night Ginny paced around her room, seething.

With a sigh Hermione fluffed her pillow and placed it back on the cot allotted to her. "I know, he is being a bit—"

"_Idiotic?"_ Ginny suggested. "Hermione, I agreed to break up with him, I didn't agree to be ignored by him for the rest of my life! He won't even make eye contact with me, except right before he kisses me, which is right before he runs away!"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't believe you took the breakup itself so well. _I_ would've cursed his toenails off."

Ginny closed her eyes. "I understand why he did it, even if I hate it. And I'm not going to say anything, I'm not going to beg to go along with you three, because I'm not making it any more difficult for him than it already is . . ."

Hermione gasped. "_You_ know the three of us are going—?"

Ginny looked mournful. "Of course, it's obvious. And one doesn't have to be a genius to overhear you lot talking about 'research' and 'when we go.'"

"Oh." Hermione looked sheepish.

Ginny tossed her nightgown onto her bed irritably. "I wish he knew he didn't have to avoid me like the plague. Just because he doesn't want to be with me anymore . . ."

"Don't think that," Hermione said firmly. "Don't ever think that. There's nothing about _'wanting'_ anything, Harry hates himself for doing this. It's just that—"

"He's a noble prat who thinks he's saving my life by making the both of us miserable."

"Well . . . yes," agreed Hermione. "That's the gist of it, really. Ginny, you should talk to him."

"I don't think Harry wants to talk. He either wants to kiss me or ignore me."

"Ginny . . ."

"Well, that's what it amounts to, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. Ginny, Harry's very confused right now. He _wants_ to be with you, but he _wants_ to keep you safe. He's divided. You really ought to—"

"Zere is talking in 'ere!" The door opened; Fleur's perfect head poked in. "Ah, zis will not do! It eez late, and young ladies need zair beauty rest! Tomorrow is ze wedding, and I will not have bridesmaids or guests with great 'orrible bags under zair eyes!"

"What about you, you're up," Ginny couldn't resist pointing out.

Fleur arched a blond brow and was about to respond when Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out further down the hall.

"Oh, come along, Fleur dear, we'll have some tea, you and I—or perhaps some Firewhisky—and put you to bed, come along. . . ."

With a last dire warning about the disasters of staying up late, Fleur's head retracted. Ginny and Hermione grudgingly went to bed, their argument unfinished.


	2. Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter, and I would guess quite a bit fluffier than the previous one (if that _is_ possible). But I do hope it's at least _intelligent_ fluff. Please don't forget to review. It really makes an author's day. And who knows, the more reviews I get, the more inspired I may be to keep up the flow of creativity and continue writing. :)

Also—there are the reactions of a few Weasley family members to Harry/Ginny in this chapter, so all of this is based on the assumption that nobody has told them about H/G dating before now. All right, that's it from me—enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** If I'm JK Rowling, then Harry and the giant squid are a canon pairing!

Vows and Goodbyes

Chapter 2

The Wedding

The weather was remarkable. For months Fleur had been moaning and fretting that the same gray chill that had fallen over the country would persist into her wedding day and ruin it. But, as pure luck would have it, the day in question dawned blue-skied and clear. It was the first sunny day in weeks, with only a few white puffs of cloud set like little pearls in a cerulean-blue sky.

Harry sat in one of the rows, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. To his right was a teary-eyed Hermione, and to _her_ right (sitting rather unnecessarily close) was Ron. For a while Harry had been unable to understand why Ron was grinning so inanely—then he noticed Hermione had interlaced her fingers with his and was squeezing his hand tightly. On Harry's left was Mrs. Weasley, who was blubbering openly into a handkerchief and murmuring disjointed little sentences now and again, like, "Can't believe this day's come . . ." and "My little boy, getting married . . ."

There was a whisper of music from an untraceable place, and with a jolt Harry realized the wedding had begun. The ceremony was beautiful, but it seemed to pass in a blur to Harry. He listened to the crowd's collective gasp as Fleur trod down the aisle, a vision in white satin robes, with a silvery, cobweb-thin veil covering her face and hair. If Fleur had been gorgeous any of the past times Harry had seen her, she was something beyond that now. Her face behind the veil glowed with pride and happiness, her blue eyes and smile focused on the red-haired man she was walking toward.

But Harry had eyes for no one but the bridesmaid. She looked amazing. Ginny's blazing locks had been swept back and coiled into a bun; her dress robes shone in the sunlight like molten gold. She was grinning at Bill as she stood beside him in the outdoor altar they had erected. Harry stared at her, blind and deaf as Bill and Fleur stood before each other and recited their vows. He noticed when her eyes grew momentarily bright as she watched her brother being married; he noticed when she winked at Fred and George from across the yard; when she smiled at her mother and father encouragingly; when she tucked back a wisp of hair behind her ear; and he noticed, too, when her eyes flicked over to meet his for a fraction of a second before looking away again.

The ceremony ended. There was perhaps a minute's reverent silence before, with a whoop, the twins jumped to their feet, wands pointed skyward. Immediately a shower of sparks burst forth, exploding in midair to form the sparkling words "CONGRATULATIONS, BILL AND FLEUR." Rose petals and confetti showered down upon the cheering crowd, and the newlyweds simply stood at the altar, beaming.

After that the music restarted; the rows and altar vanished, to be replaced by small, separate tables and a dance floor. Harry, Hermione, and Ron found a table and sat down, accepting goblets of Rosmerta's best mead. It was after they had watched a successive number of couples go out onto the dance floor—Bill and Fleur, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and Lupin, Fred and Angelina, various Weasley relatives and Delacours Harry didn't know—that Hermione began to grow antsy. She shifted in her seat, cleared her throat several times, and fiddled endlessly with the stem of her goblet.

Ron frowned at her. "Do you have to go to the loo?"

Hermione clenched her fists on the tabletop and glared at him. Harry, having just realized what was making Hermione so restless, laughed into his mead and inhaled half of it into his nostrils.

Ron still looked clueless, and Harry doubted Hermione would condescend to helping him out on this one. When Hermione had her head turned to watch more of the twins' fireworks displays, he kicked Ron under the table and gestured toward the dance floor significantly.

Ron gave him an odd look. "No thanks, Harry, I really don't fancy dancing with you, if that's okay."

Harry groaned. "Don't be a git, Ron." In a hissed whisper, he added, "_Ask her."_

Far from its usual flush, Ron's face drained of color. The freckles stood out sharply against his milk-white skin. "I . . . me . . ." he choked.

"Yes, you. Don't deny that you want to."

Ron sighed and glanced at Hermione as though afraid she might bite. Harry was getting impatient and starting to toy with the idea of putting the Imperius Curse on Ron to get him to do it—when Ron stood up, offered his hand to Hermione, and said tentatively, "Dance with me?"

Hermione looked up at him, and Harry had never seen her smile so hugely. She put her hand in his and let him lead her off to the dance floor. Harry had the urge to pat himself on the back for a job well done. It was high time they got the ball rolling, for heaven's sake.

Harry was glad he had managed to get his two best friends to dance, but he did not count on being totally abandoned by them. After the first song was finished, Harry had foolishly expected them to return to him. However, they didn't seem to want to let each other go, and so they proceeded into the next song, and the next . . . and the next . . . Night had fallen, and colorful lamps were being lit all throughout the yard . . . and still the two danced. . . .

"How did you do it?"

Harry turned around to look, but he really had no need to; he would've known that voice anywhere. Ginny was standing behind him, a glass of mead in her hand and a look of delighted awe on her face as she watched Ron and Hermione spin around on the dance floor.

"It wasn't too hard," Harry shrugged. "I did have to kick Ron once, but he cottoned on fairly quick."

Ginny snorted and took the seat across from Harry. "Pretty impressive; when I try to explain things to him it usually requires _multiple_ kicks."

Harry laughed, but inside he was nervous. Was she still angry at him? And if she was, Harry honestly couldn't blame her.

"Harry, we need to . . ." Ginny began, but just then, after a solid hour of dancing, Hermione and Ron returned, pink-faced and grinning.

"Ah, the hero's triumphant return," Ginny teased her brother as he and Hermione took their seats. "Having fun?" she asked sweetly.

"Bit thirsty," said Ron loudly, ignoring his sister. "Would you like something to drink, Hermione?"

Reddening a little, Hermione nodded.

"Be right back," Ron said, sauntering away.

"So . . ." prompted Ginny, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

"So," said Hermione just as smoothly, but this time she turned to Harry, "have you asked Ginny to dance yet?"

The atmosphere at the table suddenly grew very still. Color was rising up Harry's face.

"No," he replied, very softly.

"Are you going to?" Hermione persisted.

Harry glowered at Hermione. Just who did she think she was, butting into Harry's love life like this? It was one thing when she offered him advice, quite another when she actively meddled. Did Hermione not understand that he was in enough turmoil right now just _sitting_ near Ginny, that he had to maintain some distance if he wanted to keep his emotions in check, keep her _safe?_

He felt a wad of resentment in the pit of his stomach at how Hermione had put him on the spot like this.

"No!" he snapped, far more harshly than he had meant.

He knew he'd gone too far by the look of outrage on Hermione's face and the hurt and anger on Ginny's. Without another word Ginny stood up, slamming down her goblet of mead and striding briskly away.

Hermione was giving him a viper's stare from across the table. Ron bustled back up to them, two more drinks in hand. He took one look at Hermione and said, "Blimey, what did you do, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "I'm being a prat. I'd better go fix this." Without elaboration he rose and followed Ginny at just under a run.

He followed her onto the outskirts of the yard, leaving the circle of guests. For a moment he thought he'd lost her; then he caught sight of a glint of gold disappearing into the trees and quickly trailed it.

He found Ginny in the circular clearing where they played Quidditch. She was sitting on the ground, uncaring of the dirt or leaves that sullied her robes, her knees drawn to her chest and her back against a tree trunk. Harry gulped and approached her.

"Hey," he said, sliding down beside her.

Ginny exhaled slowly. "Why'd you follow me here, Harry? I thought you were avoiding me."

"I was. Until I realized . . . until I realized how stupid a thing it was for me to do."

Ginny's face softened to some degree. "Maybe I should be arguing, but right now I can't think up a single argument. Harry," she said, serious, "I understand your feelings. You have a path you have to follow. I know that, I've always known that. We don't have to be anything you don't want to be. But—Harry—you can't make me stay out of your life completely. You can't do that. You know I . . . you know I've always . . ." She struggled with the words, then fell silent.

"Yeah." He took her hand. "I know."

"But do you know?" She looked at him, worry in her eyes. "I don't want you to think that just because we're over it means we're _over._ Because I'll always be here, Harry. Waiting."

He sucked in a breath, hearing the promise he had been hoping to hear but never daring to ask of her. "You'd do that . . . for me? It could take years—so much will change—"

"Some things don't change, Harry. I waited for six years before this.I've become good at it, even if I don't like it. I'll always wait for you."

Harry swallowed hard, tightening his grip on her hand. "I will too. Those weeks we were going out, Ginny . . . I never felt like it was just _some girl_ I was dating . . . it was you. And I—" He hesitated, then went on, "I felt like I could spend the rest of my life that way, with you. I still do."

Ginny smiled at him sadly. "I'll hold you to that."

Harry kissed her to seal the promise.

When they broke apart, Ginny grinned at him cheekily. "Still going to refuse me that dance?"

Harry climbed to his feet and pulled her up. "I don't think I have the willpower to resist."

They returned to the yard just in time for the final dance of the evening. They stepped in beside a swaying Ron and Hermione; Hermione beamed over Ron's shoulder and winked at Ginny. As they started to dance, others began to take notice. Fred and George, half the yard away sending up fireworks and surrounded by an elated group of children, stopped with their wands half-raised. Their mouths hung open as they spotted their sister dancing with Harry Potter.

"Take the mickey out of 'em now or later?" Fred asked his twin after a moment's taken aback silence.

George was still gazing in the direction of the dance floor. "Later," he finally said. "She looks like she's enjoying herself too much—she'd only hex our noses onto our buttocks if we interrupted."

Fleur and Bill were dancing on another part of the dance floor, taking it in turns to eye the other couple as they rotated slowly.

"Your little seester . . . she is dancing with 'Arry?" Fleur said in some surprise. "I did not know they . . ."

"I didn't know either," said Bill quietly, smiling into his new wife's face. "I only had my suspicions. I'm glad to see they were right."

And at one of the small tables set out, Mrs. Weasley was (for the fifth or sixth time that day) once more crying.

"Ohh, it's so beautiful," she sniffled. "I always thought . . . maybe . . . one day Harry and my little girl could . . . and, oh . . ."

Mr. Weasley smiled and patted his wife's shoulder. "I think we all thought about it at one point or another. There have been plenty of signs . . . I _thought_ Harry had been treating her differently lately. . . . Poor boy, always has been transparent. . . ."

Mrs. Weasley chuckled wetly, and across the table Tonks and Lupin smiled.

"They look very happy, don't they?" said Tonks fondly, twisting a strand of pink hair around one finger.

"They look," said Lupin very quietly, an odd expression on his face, "like James and Lily."

At last, the song ended. Harry and Ginny stepped apart rather unwillingly.

"Ginny, I'm going to be . . ." Harry started to say, but was interrupted by a sudden explosion of hoots and catcalls coming toward them. Fred and George were hurrying onto the dance floor, sending out celebratory jets of confetti with their wands as they charged, not toward Harry and Ginny, but toward Ron and Hermione—who, Harry realized with a jolt, had been kissing.

"It's happened!" shouted George.

"At last!" whistled Fred.

"They've come to their senses!" George howled.

"Less fighting!" Fred cheered.

"More snogging!" George whooped.

Laughter and scattered applause was coming from the guests. Ron was scarlet-faced and glaring murderously at the twins, but he had not let go of Hermione and it was easy to see that part of him was much too overjoyed at what had just happened to care about his brothers' antics. Hermione herself had turned magenta, but the smile on her face was enormous, and she was even laughing shyly with everyone else.

Ron looked on the verge of jinxing Fred and George, then, with pointed gallantry, he took Hermione's hand, muttered, "Come on," and pulled her away, off the dance floor and across the yard. This, of course, elicited only more hoots and wolf-whistles from their audience, but neither seemed to care. They went into the house and no one anticipated seeing them again for quite a while.

Fred was dusting his hands off in a singularly satisfied way as he watched his two victims leave. Then he turned to Harry and Ginny, smirking. "Now . . ."

Ginny had drawn her wand so fast Harry didn't even see where she was keeping it in her dress robes. "Oh no you don't. You're not publicly embarrassing Harry _or_ me tonight."

Both made huffing sounds, as though offended.

"Dearest of sisters! You think we would dare?"

"To Ron and Hermione, yes, but that's because they were so painfully _obvious _for years that they needed a little cheering session in celebration of their accomplishment."

"We would do the same for you," George confided, "but you're a bit too skilled at spellwork for that."

"Yeah, we like our noses where they are," Fred said, rubbing his.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny turned back toward Harry. "What were you going to say?"

And looking into her deep brown eyes, peering back up at him so hopefully, Harry lost his nerve. "Erm—later."

But they weren't given a chance for "later." Once the last dance had ended everything seemed a mad scramble. There was the bouquet to toss (caught by Gabrielle Delacour, though there was some suspicion she had cast a Summoning Charm on it just after it was thrown). After that there were endless relatives to hug goodbye (for Ron and the other Weasleys, at least); guests to see off as they Apparated or Floo'd away; messes to tidy and spare food to put up; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went around magically clearing away the tables, chairs, and dance floor they had summoned into the yard; and, most importantly, there was Bill and Fleur to bid farewell before they embarked on a weeklong honeymoon to the south of France. Mrs. Weasley cried several more bucketfuls of tears as she was finally pried off of Bill, allowing the jubilant couple to Disapparate.

By the time they had returned the Burrow's backyard to the way it was _before_ the wedding, it was late and getting later. When the last of the chores were finished, the family (every Weasley, minus Bill and Percy, plus Hermione and Harry) gathered in the sitting room to relax and reminisce for another half-hour or so. Then, smiling in an exhausted sort of way, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retired, with warnings to the others not to stay up too much later. Shortly thereafter the twins yawned ostentatiously, declared the wedding "quite spiffing, as shindigs go," and Disapparated back to their flat. Right afterward Charlie retreated upstairs to his old bedroom. He was soon followed by a shifty-looking Ron and Hermione (Ginny would've bet very good money they were not off to bed, as they claimed, but rather finding a suitable corner in which to snog) . . . which left Harry and Ginny alone.

Ginny turned to him expectantly. "This 'later' enough for you?"

Harry swallowed hard. He hoped this wouldn't lead into a fight or, worse, tears. "Actually, it's as late as I can make it," he told her grimly. "We weren't going to say anything, but—I can't _not _tell you. Ginny, the three of us are leaving tomorrow. At sunrise."

Ginny bit her lip but only nodded. "I figured you would be. Do Mum and Dad know?"

"No. And it's going to stay that way until we're gone. We agreed we don't want a huge fuss. We're leaving notes instead."

"You're smart to do that. Mum would probably put a Permanent Sticking Charm on your bums and glue you all to the kitchen table if she knew. But I'm glad you told me."

"Why? I'm not even glad about it myself. Why do you want to be told?"

"So I can give you a proper goodbye."

"What's a prop—"

But his words were quite abruptly cut off as she launched herself at him in one of the most passionate kisses Harry had ever experienced. His first, fleeting thought was that it was worth leaving if just to get kissed like this. He felt a rushing sense of relief that he had confided in her. The kiss allowed him to forget about anything, everything, and everyone else, if only for as long as their lips were together. He didn't have to be Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the hero on whose fate the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike depended on—he could be, quite simply, Harry.

It would be the kiss he carried with him wherever he went from that night on, what he thought about to warm him on the darkest, coldest nights, and what he took with him into battle against Voldemort.

"Goodbye," Ginny whispered, breaking the kiss.

And Harry swore to himself it would be the last goodbye they ever had to say to each other. Once Voldemort was dead and gone, he would make sure of that.

"Come on, Harry. We can't linger. Mrs. Weasley could be up at any minute," Hermione reminded him solemnly, resettling the rucksack over her shoulder as she turned and glanced at her friend.

Harry was standing on the outskirts of the lawn, his back to Ron and Hermione as he gazed at the tall, slightly crooked structure that was the Burrow. It was dawn; the strong, brilliant colors of the rising sun were reflected in the house's windows, which shone dazzlingly back at him. Heedless of Hermione's words, he stayed where he was, staring hard at the windows as if searching for something. At last, in one of the upper stories, the third window from the right, he could faintly see the outline of someone with long, gleaming red hair standing there. Watching him.

Harry smiled, raised one hand in a final gesture of farewell, and then turned around to face his destiny.

**FIN.**


End file.
